The Makeshift Rocket (7 page)

‘Miss Croft,’ said Herr Syrup, ‘ve is in trouble.’

‘Oh. You mean about Ro – about Major McConnell?’

‘
Ja
. He has taken inventory of everyt’ing aboard. He has stowed all de electric stuffs in a cabinet vich he has locked, and he has de key, himself. How are ve going to make a broadcaster now?’

‘Oh, damn Major McConnell!’ cried Emily. ‘I mean, damn him, actually!’

‘Dere is a hope I can see,’ said Herr Syrup. ‘It vill depend on you.’

‘Oh!’ Emily brightened. ‘Why, how wonderful! I mean, I was afraid it would be so dull, just waiting for you to—And I’m sorry to say it, but the ship is not very esthetic, I mean there’s just white paint and all those clocks and dials and thingummies and really, I haven’t found any books except things like
The Jovian Intersatellite Pilot with Ephemerides
or something else called
Pictures For Men
, where the women aren’t in classical poses at all, I mean it’s—’ She broke off, confused. ‘Where was I? Oh, yes, you wanted me to – But that’s terrif! I mean, wheel’ She jumped up and
down, twirled till her tunic stood out horizontally and her wreath titled askew, and grabbed Herr Syrup’s hands. ‘What can I do? Do you want any secret messages translated into Greek?’

‘No,’ said the engineer. ‘Not yust now. Uh … er—’ He stared down, blushing, and dug at the carpet with one square-toed boot. ‘Vell, you see, Miss Croft, if McConnell got distracted from vorking on de compensator … if he vas not in de machine shop vit’ me very often, and den had his mind on somet’ing else … I could pick de lock on de electrics box and sneak out de parts I need and carry on vit’ our plan. But, vell, first he must be given some odder interest dat vill hold all his attention for several days.’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Emily. She laid a finger to her cheek. ‘Let me think. What is he interested in? Well, he talks a lot about spaceships, he wanted to be an interplanetary explorer when this trouble is over, and, you know, he really is enthusiastic about that, why, he’s so much like a little boy I want to rumple his hair—’ She stopped, gulping. ‘No. That won’t do. I mean, the only person here who can talk to him about spaceships is yourself.’

‘I am afraid I am not yust exactly his type,’ said Herr Syrup in an elaborate tone.

‘I mean,
you
can’t keep him distracted, because you’re the one we want to have working behind his back,’ said Emily. ‘Let me see, what else? Yes, I believe Major McConnell mentioned being fond of poker. It’s a card game, you know. And Mr Sarmishkidu is very interested in, uh, permutations. So maybe they could—’

‘I am afraid Sarmishkidu is not yust exactly his type eider.’ Herr Syrup frowned. ‘For a young lady vat is so mad ‘vit dat crazy Erser, you ban spending a lot of time vit’ him to know his tastes so vell.’

Emily’s face heated up. ‘Don’t you call me a collaborationist!’ she shouted. ‘Why, when the invaders first landed I put on a Phrygian liberty cap and went around with a flag calling on all our men to follow me and drive them off. And nobody did. They said they had nothing more powerful than a few shotguns. As if that made any difference!’

‘It does make some difference,’ said Herr Syrup placatingly.

‘But as for seeing Major McConnell since, why, how could I help it? I mean, O’Toole made him the liaison officer for us Grendelians, because even O’Toole must admit that Rory has more charm. And naturally he had to discuss many things with my father, who’s one of Grendel’s leading citizens, the vicar, you know. And while he was in our house, well, he’s a guest even if he is an enemy, and no Croft has been impolite to a guest since Sir Hardman Croft showed a Puritan constable the door in 1657. I mean, it just isn’t done. Of course I had to be nice to him. And he does have a lovely soft voice, and any Duncanite appreciates musical qualities, and that doesn’t make me a collaborator, because I’d lead an attack on their spaceship this very day if somebody would only help me. And if I don’t want any of them to get hurt, why, I’m only thinking about their innocent parents and, and sweethearts, and so there!’

‘Oh,’ said Herr Syrup.

His pipe had gone out. He became very busy rekindling it. ‘Vell, Miss,’ he said, ‘in dat case you vill help us out and try to distract de mayor’s mind off his vork, vill you not? It ban your patriotic duty. Yust-encourashe-him-in-a-nice-vay-because-he-is-really-in-love-vit’-you-okay? Good night.’ And hiding his beet-colored face in a cloud of smoke, Herr Syrup bolted.

Emily stared after him. ‘Why, good heavens,’ she whispered. ‘I mean, actually!’

Her eyes traveled back to Grendel and the stars. ‘But that isn’t so,’ she protested. ‘It’s just what they call blarney.
Makros Logos
to be exact.’

No one answered her for a moment, then feet resounded in the companionway and a hearty voice boomed: ‘Emily, are ye up there?’

‘Oh, dear!’ exclaimed the girl. She looked around for a mirror, made do with a polished chrome surface, and adjusted her wreath and the yellow hair below it. She must not let a foreigner see an Anglian lady disarrayed, and really, she regretted not having any lipstick and felt sure that abstention from such materials didn’t represent the true Duncanism.

Rory McConnell clumped in, his shoulders brushing the door jambs and his head stooped under the lintel. ‘Ah, macushla, I found ye,’ he said. ‘Will ye not speek for a bit to a weary man, so he can sleep content? For even the hour or two of testin’ I’ve been able to do today on that devil’s machine has revealed nothin’ to me but me own bafflement, an’ ’tis consolation I need.’

Emily found herself breathing as hard as if she had run a long distance.
Oh, stop it!
she scolded.
Hyperventilating! No wonder you feel so weak and dizzy
.

The Erseman leaned close. For once he did not grin, he smiled, and it was not fair that a barbarian could have so tender a smile. ‘Sure an’ I never knew a pulse in any throat could be that adorable,’ he murmured.

‘Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?’ said Emily, since nothing else came to mind.

‘The wither in space is always noice, though perhaps just a trifle monotonous,’ quirked McConnell. He came around
the pilot chair and stood beside her. The red hairs on the back of one hand brushed her bare thigh; she gulped and clung to the chair for support.

After all, her duty was to distract him. She was certain that even Isadora Duncan, the pure and serene, would have approved.

McConnell reached out a long arm and switched off the bridge lights, so that they stood in the soft, drenching radiance of Grendel, among a million stars. ‘’Tis enough to make a man believe in destiny,’ he said.

‘It is?’ asked Emily. Her voice wobbled, and she berated herself. ‘I mean, what is?’

‘Crossin’ space on this mission an’ findin’ ye waitin’ at the yonder end. For I’ll admit to yez what I’ve dared say to no one else, ’tis not important to me who owns that silly piece of ore Laoighise. I went with O’Toole because a McConnell has never hung back from any brave venture, arragh, how ye wring truth from me which I had not ayven admitted to meself! Oh, to be sure, I’m proud to do me country a service, but I cannot think ’tis so great an’ holy a deed as O’Toole prates of. So I came more on impulse than plan, me darlin’, an’ yet I found me destiny. The which is your own sweet self.’

Emily’s heart thumped with unreasonable violence. She clasped her hands tightly to her breast, because one of them had been sneaking toward McConnell’s broad paw. ‘Oh?’ she said out of dry lips. ‘I mean, really?’

‘Yes. An’ sorry I am that our work distresses yez. I can only hope to make amends later. But trust we’ll have fifty or sixty years for that!’

‘Er, yes,’ said Emily.

‘What?’ roared McConnell. He spun on his heel, laid his
hands about her waist, and stared wildly down into her eyes. ‘Did I hear ye say yes?’

‘I … I … I – No, please listen to me!’ wailed Emily, pushing against his chest. ‘Let go! I mean, all I wanted to say was, if you don’t really care how this business comes out, if you really don’t think Lois is worth risking a war over and—’ She drew a deep breath and tacked a smile on her face. Now was the time to distract him, as Mr. Syrup had requested. ‘And if you really want to please me, R-r-r-ro—Major McConnell, then why don’t you help us right now? Just let us make that sparky osculator or whatever it is to call New Winchester for help, and everything will be so nice and – I mean—’

His hands fell to his sides and his mouth stretched tight. He turned from her, leaned on the instrument board and stared out at the constellations.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve given me oath to support the Force to the best of me ability. Did I turn on me comrades, there’d be worse than hellfire waitin’ for me, there’d be the knowin’ of meself for less than a man.’

Emily moistened her lips. There must be some way to distract him, she thought frantically. That beautiful lady agent in
The Son of the Spider
, the one who lured Sir Frederic Banton up to her apartment while the Octopus stole the secret papers from his office – She stood frozen among thunders, unable to bring herself to it, until another memory came, some pictures of an accidental atomic explosion of Callisto and its aftermath. That sort of thing might be done to little children, deliberately, if there was a war.

She stole up behind McConnell, laid her cheek against his back and her arms around his waist. ‘Oh, Rory,’ she said.

‘What?’ He spun around again. He was so quick on his feet she didn’t have time to let go and was whipped around
with him. ‘Where are ye?’ he called.

‘Here,’ she said, picking herself up.

She leaned on his arm – she had never before known a man who could take her whole weight thus without even stirring – and forced her eyes toward his. ‘Oh, Rory,’ she tried again.

‘What do ye mean?’ It was a disquieting surprise that he did not sweep her into his embrace, but stood rigidly and stared.

‘Rory,’ she said. Then, feeling that her conversation was too limited, she got out in a rush of words: ‘Let’s just forget all these awful things. I mean, let’s just stay up here and, and, and I’ll explain about Duncanism to you and, well, I mean don’t go back to the engine room, please!’

He said in a rasp: ‘So ’tis me ye’d be keepin’ up here whilst auld Syrup does what he will in the stern? An’ what do ye offer me besides conversation?’

‘Everything!’ said Emily, taking an automatic cue from the beautiful lady agent vs. Sir Frederic; because her own mind felt full of glue and hammers.

‘Everything, eh?’

Suddenly his arm jerked from beneath her. She fell in a heap. The green-clad body towered above, up and up and
up
, and a voice like gunfire crashed:

‘So that’s the game, is it? So ye think I’d sell the honor of the McConnells for – for – Why, had I known yez for what ye are, I’d not have given yez a second look the third time we met. An’ to think I wanted yez for the mother of me sons!’

‘No,’ cried Emily. She sat up, hearing herself call like a stranger across light-years. ‘No, Rory, when I said everything I didn’t mean everything! I just—’

‘Never mind,’ he snarled, and went from the bridge. The door cracked shut behind him.

Knud Axel Syrup paused a moment in the after transverse corridor. The bulkhead which faced him bore a stencilled KEEP OUT and three doors: the middle one directly to the engine room, the right-hand one to the machine shop, and the left to his small private cabin. These two side chambers also had doors opening directly on the engine room. It made for a lack of privacy distressing in the present cloak-anddagger situation.

However, the wild Erseman would no doubt be up on the bridge for hours. Herr Syrup sighed, a little enviously, and went through the central door.

‘Awwrk,’ said Claus, flapping in from the cabin. ‘Nom
d’un nom d’une vache! Schweinhund! Sanamabiche
!’

‘Exactly,’ said Herr Syrup. He entered the little bathroom behind the main energy converter and extracted a bottle of beer from a cooler which he had installed himself. Claus paced impatiently along a rheostat. Herr Syrup crumbled a pretzel for him and poured a little beer into a saucer. The crow jabbed his beak into the liquid, tilted back his black head, shook out his feathers, and croaked: ‘
Gaudeatnus igitur
!’

‘You’re velcome,’ said Herr Syrup. He inspected the locked electrical cabinet. Duplicating a Yale key would call for delicate instruments and skilled labor. After latching all doors to the outside, he went into the machine shop, selected
various items, and returned. First, perhaps, a wire into the slot…

The main door shivered under a mule kick. Faintly through its insulated metal thickness came a harsh roar: ‘Open up, ye auld scut, or I’ll crack the outer hatches an’ let ye choke!’

‘Yumping Yupiter,’ said Herr Syrup.

He pattered across the room and admitted Rory McConnell, who glared down upon him and snarled: ‘So ’tis up to your sneakin’ tricks ye are again, eh? Throw a pretty face an’ long legs at me an’ – Aaargh! Be off wi’ yez!’

‘But,’ bleated Herr Syrup. ‘But vas you not talkin’ vit’ Miss Croft?’

‘I was,’ said McConnell. ‘’Tis not a mistake I’ll make ag’in. Go tell her to save her charms for bigger fools than me. I’m goin’ to sleep now.’ He tore off his various weapons, laid them beside his pack, and sat down on the floor. ‘Git out!’ he rapped, fumbling at a boot zipper. His face was like fire. ‘Tomorry perhaps I can look at ye wi’ out bokin’!’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Herr Syrup.

‘Oh, shucks,’ said Claus, though not in just those words.

Herr Syrup picked up his miscellaneous tools and stole back into the workshop. A moment afterward he remembered his bottle of beer and stuck his head back through the communicating door. McConnell threw a boot at him. Herr Syrup closed the door and toddled out to make another requisition on the cargo.

Having done so, he stopped by the saloon. Emily was there, her face in her arms, her body slumped over the table and shuddering with sobs. At the far end sat Sarmishkidu, puffing his Tyrolean pipe and making calculations.

‘Oh, dear,’ said Herr Syrup again, helplessly.